Engel und Soldat
Prologue The city of Amsterdam settled deeply into a blanket of fog. Night had fallen several hours before, bringing a thick darkness with it that smelled like damp saltwater. The air was cold, wet, and heavy, poisoning the usually lively night atmosphere and clearing the streets. They lay bare, deserted, and still. Even De Wallen, the city’s red light district, lolled in an anemic stupor. The bright lights reflected off the cloud of fog, creating a murky red glow that matched the district’s unofficial namesake. From narrow glass windows, scantily clad women peered out; some with bored expressions, others waiting nervously in hope of a paycheck. But business was slow, and only a few uninterested wanderers roamed the streets. No one noticed the shimmering, mirage-like shadow as it drifted past. No one sensed the suppressed, menacing aura that it harbored like a disease. No one saw the shadows crawling like electrified black spiders around its feet. The shadow could sense its target nearby and it drew closer, its fingers twitching with restrained excitement as it watched the bar from across the street, and waited. Almost an hour passed before a man staggered out from under the blinking neon sign of the entrance. He stumbled into an alleyway and retched into the gutter before he regained some of his balance, leaning heavily against the wall. Dulled as his senses were, he too failed to notice the shadow’s presence. The man’s name was Jean Blanc. Forty-two years old with a slender build and average height. He had thick hair in one even shade of gray, pale blue eyes, and wore an entirely unremarkable business suit. His most noticeable feature was the bandage tape under his left eye, and he knew his alibis of “cut while shaving” left people unconvinced, but it was easier than explaining what a Hollow was. Jean was supposed to keep his stay in Amsterdam completely “business-related,” but he had grown tired of the city’s foul mood and had tried to shake it off with a few glasses of strong liquor. Of course he had stayed too long, he always did. As he came to a split in the street he paused and tried to recall which direction led back to his hotel. His vision was fuzzy, and already his head felt bloated and throbbed slightly. The shadow followed him, but it moved too abruptly. He was suddenly aware of the faint spiritual pressure, as well as the darker aura behind it—a subtle, murderous intent. “C'est quoi?” Jean’s senses sharpened as he began to absorb Reishi from the air around him. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and clutched his Quincy’s cross. It comforted him to hold the cool metal in the palm of his hand, and he continued to stumble forward as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He hoped desperately that his follower had not noticed his sudden wariness or his gradually rising spiritual pressure. It was natural that this should occur. He knew he had been watched ever since he had arrived in Amsterdam, but he had been careful. Now, with one lapse of judgment, his life was at stake. He knew why he was being followed, but he did not know who it was. Jean was so concentrated on detecting the movements of the unseen foe behind him that he did not pay attention to where he was going, and he found himself on a street that ended at a wall. He craned his neck and could just barely make out the edge of the roof against the black sky. He would have to use Hirenkyaku to reach it... The attack came, viscously unexpected. A sudden disturbance that rippled through his own Reiatsu was all that alerted him to the oncoming projectile. He ducked just as the brick exploded behind his head, sending chalky shards in every direction. “Merde.” he swore as he activated his cross. Blue light from the glowing Reishi sent strange shadows dancing across the walls. One of these shadows moved, darting across his peripheral vision. Jean swung his bow around and released an arrow. It arced gracefully before disappearing into the distant sky... he had missed. A moment passed. He stood utterly still, straining to hear the movements of his attacker. There was an echo of steel from further down the street, a distant horn blaring from the subway, and somewhere far to the north a faint chime of the clock tower. But nothing moved here. Only the rain, which continued to drizzle steadily. “Who’s there?” he called out in difficult, slurred Dutch. There was no reply. “What do you want?” this time in English. A menacing laugh answered him, bouncing off the walls with an eerie echo. Jean watched as the shadows on the walls began to morph into shapes, blinking at him with hollow eyes as the alcohol continued to play tricks on his mind. A deep fear gripped him, beginning with his spine and moving up to the brainstem. He found himself imagining a yawning gap in the ground, a vast pit stretched open to consume him. He stepped away... and in that instant felt the hard, impartial steel of a knife pressing against his throat. “I know what you are,” his attacker whispered in his native tongue. A cold sweat ran down from Jean’s temples. “I’ll give you anything. Do you want money? Information?” Jean asked hoarsely, “What I want is your blood,” was the simple reply, although the voice was filled with malice. “Quincy.” A scream followed, but it was cut short by the blade that plunged into his throat. The Investigation The rain had begun around six, and had continued past sunset into the night, hailing the darkness with a quiet, subdued sheet of gray. Dresden glanced out the windows of the storefront as he polished a glass mug in hand, the cloth working quickly, habitually. While a steady stream of business had kept him occupied throughout the evening, now that night was fully upon them the small Bruin Café began to fill itself with nothing more than empty space. A few stragglers seemed to huddle over the last of their drinks, but it was a midweek’s night in late fall: with the cool weather and the unrelenting rain, the small bar was lethargic and heavy with sleep. Nevertheless, it was, as always, a comfortable place, and tucked safely away from the openness of the deserted streets outside. As Dresden turned to place the glass on the stand next to the other mugs, one of the patrons at the bar caught him by the eye, and he promptly, effortlessly attended to him. “Mag ik een kleintje pils?” the blurry-eyed man asked. “Een kleintje?” “Ja.” Dresden quickly took a small glass from the shelf and went to the tap, careful to fill it with the same beer the patron had ordered before. He left generous, heady foam at the top before placing the drink in front of the man and sweeping away his empty mug. “I know it may not be my place, mijnheer, but perhaps this should be the last one.” Dresden suggested with gentle concern. The man stared at his beer before he nodded, slowly. “Yeah, that would be best, wouldn’t it.” he said before drinking deeply. Dresden turned back to the sink. He could hear the low rumble of thunder in the distance over the gentle sound of pattering footsteps from the rain on the roof, and from the barely perceptible ache deep within his bones, he assumed the downpour would continue throughout the night. As he stared at the clear, rhythmic stream of water from the faucet, he felt a sudden pressure behind his skull and his vision blurred. Dresden grasped the sides of the sink and took deep, even breaths. Somewhere in the distance, but not distant enough, he could feel the distinctive, spiritual signature of his own kind. A Quincy? Here? Over the years, Dresden had remained sensitive to the passing presences that occasionally drifted through the city. While his own Reiatsu was suppressed and nearly undetectable, it in no way diminished his awareness of the spiritual realm, although he often found himself wishing he could forget that it existed at all. But tonight, the spiritual pressure had spiked. It was intense, concentrated... and close by. While he tried to ignore it at first, the subtle throb of perception at the back of his mind distracted him until, at last, he knew he would have to determine the source of the disturbance. It meant he was risking exposure, but as long as he was careful he could most likely observe the fight without being noticed. Perhaps it would even provide him a valuable insight into the world he had for so long alienated himself from. Dresden brushed his hands off on the front of his apron before making a hasty excuse to the manager: a thin, balding old man with an unlit cigar in the corner of his mouth as thick as his gray mustache. He explained that he was feeling unwell and needed to step outside for a few moments. “I’ll be back soon,” he assured him. Gerd looked up from the newspaper he had been absorbed in, took one glance at the nearly empty café, and waved his hand dismissively. “Take all the time you need, I can handle em’ myself.” Dresden thanked him and checked the time— forty-five minutes until closing, before he quickly slid into his jacket and stepped outside the backdoor. The damp air permeated deeply into his lungs, and he soon felt the chill settle beneath his skin. For a moment he paused as he seemed to stare blankly down the alleyway, when in reality he was instinctively allowing his mind to become familiar with the thread of spiritual energy that seemed to beckon him further into the night. But, just as he started off, the Reiatsu disappeared entirely. What’s going on? he questioned as he broke into an easy run. The sudden upwelling in spiritual pressure had suggested a battle, and when it had been snuffed out Dresden could only imagine that the Quincy had been defeated: either killed or knocked unconscious. However, what bothered him was that the opponent, whoever it might have been, had released no Reiatsu of their own. None that he could detect, at any rate. The Reiraku lead him towards the dam, and as he began to descend in elevation the fog became denser until he found himself wading through a thick cloud of mist that hovered around his knees. He continued to follow the old cobblestone streets towards De Wallen, and as he neared the place where he had initially sensed the Reiatsu he slowed his pace, becoming cautious as he approached a dead-end alleyway. There was no movement, and while the street appeared to be entirely devoid of life, he still entered warily. “Hello?” he called out, his voice returning to him off the walls with a hollow echo. There was a pool of white, fluorescent light a short distance into the alley, and as he tread towards it he made out the figure of a man propped against the wall. But with a start, he realized that the man was dead. It had been many years since he had witnessed such brutality. The victim’s arms had been stretched out and his wrists pinned above his head by gleaming, metal stakes that were driven deep into the brick. He was suspended above the ground, his feet stacked on top of each other and secured to the wall in the same manner, as though it were some crude imitation of a crucifixion. The murderer had taken particular interest in the chest, as the dead man’s shirt was open, revealing an X carved across his lungs and sternum. Upon closer inspection, however, Dresden discovered that the blood that covered the corpse seemed mainly to have come from a thin red line in his throat, where the man’s life had spilled out over his bare neck and chest. There was a static hum, and the light above him flickered. Dresden felt his pulse quicken, but he leaned in closer anyway. The trace of residual Reiatsu had left a slight imprint layered across the body, and he knew with instinctual certainty that the man had been a Quincy. Aside from this, however, there was no immediate form of identification. The man had worn a tailored, dark gray suit of high quality, yet modest design. He had thick, short gray hair, and his dull, blue eyes were wide in deadened shock. Dresden reached into his pocket and slipped on his gloves. While he did not normally use them in forensics, he did not want to leave any indication that someone else had examined the body before the police. One could never be too cautious, it was the 21st century, after all. Quickly, Dresden checked the man’s pockets to try and determine something about his identity. Ticket stubs, a few receipts, a cigarette lighter (but no cigarettes), a wallet and, most notably, a small silver cross inscribed within a pentagram. Even with his gloves Dresden could feel the electric shock of the remnant Reiryoku imbued within the object, and it was obvious that it had been used as a focus for the Quincy’s powers. From the passport that had been tucked away in his wallet, Dresden learned the man’s name and gathered that he was French. Most interestingly, however, was the small metal tag attached to the cross. It was etched with the geometric design of a circle, pentagram, and star, and on the back of the tag there were five, seemingly random numbers. Dresden turned it over in his hand and frowned, immediately recognizing the symbol. Like he had been stung by venom, Dresden hastily replaced the cross and tag in the pocket where he had found them. He no longer wanted anything to do with the dead Quincy. Straightening up stiffly, Dresden removed his blood-stained gloves before backing away from the body. Considering his list of associations, it was likely that Jean Blanc had made himself a target in some way. And as his death had occurred less than twenty minutes before, it was entirely possible that the murderer was still close by. The last thing Dresden wanted was to call unwanted attention to himself by affiliating himself with Blanc, especially if such attention included that of an assassin. Still, Dresden felt as though it were his duty to contact the authorities, but he would do so anonymously. To that end made his way towards the payphone two streets over. However, preoccupied by what he had seen, Dresden did not notice that he was being observed as he left the alleyway. Nor did he realize that his long, surreptitious strides appeared suspicious to anyone aware of the murder left behind him. Turquoise eyes narrowed as they followed the male safely from the roofs above the darkened street, concealing most of their owner behind a chimney. She had followed her target ever since he had left that small café, having waited patiently for her target to show himself since locating the small place earlier that same day. However, even as she had chased the man through alleyways, streets, twists and turns she had still managed to lose sight of him for only a few moments. That dratted control of his spiritual pressure had managed to leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere for nothing more than a few minutes, but it appeared that only a few minutes had been needed to perform the misdeed several feet beneath her. Barely feeling the rain drizzling down from high above, the woman clenched her fists tightly as she continued to look at the sight that had met her when she had relocated her target. A Stunde Quincy, one of their own men, butchered like an animal in the streets. “Bastard,” she hissed softly as she watched the man kneel before his own handiwork and poke around in his victim’s pockets only to blink in surprise when her target dropped whatever it was that he had been holding in his hand and instead backed away from the still-cooling corpse immediately. ‘Did he notice me?’ But no, the man instead backed away from the corpse and fled from the crime scene with determined steps, making his way to one of the nearest payphones spotted a fair distance away, only reachable by walking out on the streets. That would not happen. The woman let out a soft breath before standing straight from her formerly crouched position. The man had almost reached the entrance to the alleyway. She flexed her muscles before beginning her silent descend down to the ground at a speed that would have snapped the bones in a normal human’s body. Landing on the heels of her boots, the woman straightened up to her full—albeit short—stature and allowed her reiatsu to flare for only a brief moment, but long enough for the man, Dresden Ravenskraft, to notice her presence. “You and I both know where we will be heading short, Herr ''Ravenskraft,” Eleonore spoke sharply, digging out a small, brilliant blur ''fleur-de-lis ''and clutching it firmly in her hand as ''reishi gathered around it to slowly form a bow, “Do me a favor here and quit all thoughts of resisting me right now, it’ll make everything so much easier.” Dresden stopped when she addressed him, but did not immediately face her. While surprised by her sudden appearance, he quickly realized why she was here. It seemed that, like the victim in the alleyway, she was also a member of the organization he had hidden himself from for the past eight years, and he had always dreaded a direct confrontation. The Stunde may have been aware of him, but he too knew of the Stunde. “I have not heard that name in a long time,” he said after a long moment of silence. He finally turned so that the two Quincy were face-to-face. “I can guess at why you are here, fräulein, but I believe there has been some mistake: I did not murder that man.” he said, speaking fluently yet tacitly in his mother tongue. He knew she would not be convinced, and even as he answered her he scanned his deserted surroundings for a way of escape. Her Reiatsu, unlike his own, was strong and resilient, suggesting a high degree of spiritual power. If he took her head-on, he would be quickly outmatched. Still, he refused to be cornered, and began to formulate a plan of attack even though he knew he would not get far without first gauging the extent of his adversary’s capabilities. Dresden swore silently at his nightmarish predicament. After years of avoiding detection, it appeared he was being forcibly dragged out of hiding, and he instinctively felt that the control he had had for so long was being pulled slowly, gently, from his fingers. And he detested it. Drawing the reishi bow tight, a shimmering, blue arrow appearing between the woman’s fingers, crackling with energy just waiting to be released—yet she simply kept the projectile trained straight on Dresden’s person. “I find that a bit hard to believe, Herr ''Ravenskraft,” the woman drawled as she stood her ground, face indecipherable behind the bland, gray mask that covered the upper half of her face, “That man was killed not long ago and your presence all over the body is easy to see for those trained in such ways. I would say that the evidence is stacked against you.” She waited for the man to do something, searching his face for any indignation as to what he intended to do, but she found nothing traceable, nothing that would give her any warning as to what her target intended to do. She knew that she had caught him in a pinch not easily escapable, and even if he succeeded in getting rid of her somehow it would not take long for Stunde to react. Two agents going missing in the same region within almost the same timespan would be impossible to dismiss. “I will say this once more,” the woman growled, “do not make it any harder on yourself and just come quietly. Don’t give Stunde any more reasons to hunt your sorry ass across Europe.” “While I respect your sense of justice, fraülein,” Dresden began, keeping a wary eye on the flickering arrow resting across the bow, “I believe it is a misguided one.” he sighed, “Even as we speak the murderer you are after is scuttling away to who knows where. I assure you, if you had examined the corpse more closely you would discover that the handiwork is not mine.” he reached into his pocket, hoping she would not notice as he slipped on his ''Aufsaugen gloves, readying himself for her attack. “Please do not make the mistake of jumping to conclusions.” His voice was cool, polite, and as calm as if they had met under much more casual circumstances, but in reality he felt damp sweat at his temples, and he narrowed his eyes as he gauged his supposed opponent warily. “Very well,” the woman growled, the muscles in her arms tensing as she drew back the arrow on her bow even further, “You’ve made your choice.” Snapping into action in less than a second, the woman directed her aim from Dresden’s chest to his right knee instead before releasing the condensed reishi arrow. As soon as she let the projectile escape her grasp, she let the shimmering bow of reishi disappear only to pull out a Seele Schneider instead, disappearing in a burst of Hirenkyaku ''to get behind Dresden. He could only rely upon his own, natural reflexes to counter, yet he countered perfectly. Even before the Stunde Quincy had released her arrow he had thrown out his hand and snapped his fingers. The timing was exact. As the Heilig Pfeil traveled through the air it suddenly erupted with a bright flash of blue flame. Reishi consumed Reishi before the projectile crumbled harmlessly into blue specks of light. Dresden did not pause, however, and as his adversary maneuvered behind him he drew his Mauser from wherever he had been concealing it beneath his apron—which he just realized that he had forgotten to remove—and leveled the gun at the woman’s chest. He was a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger, but he did not move, silently demanding the same from her. "You're good, I'll give you that," the woman grinned behind her dark mask, rosy lips curled into a predatory smirk as the sightless eye-holes kept staring up at Dresden's eyes. She tightened the grip around her Seele Schneider, her fingers just ''itching to let the reishi around her slip inside the instrument and activate, yet she refrained from doing just that. If she activated the Seele Schneider her target would no doubt pull the trigger belonging to the gun currently pointing to her chest. Her gaze flickered to Dresden's apron-clad chest for only a short moment, but it was enough for her smirk to widen even further. "Cute apron," she commented briefly before she slowly pulled backwards, away from both her target and the weapon he was carrying, "But not cute enough to save your hide." Unbeknownst to Dresden, there had been a second observer of his stylish little apron. A cloaked figure from on high, standing atop one of the many rooftops that surrounded the two tussling Quincy. He had been watching the nights festivities in relative silence, forming his own outlook on the proceedings and their implications. How he managed to hide himself was a bit of a mystery under such radiant moonlight, however. Though he was quiet and radiated no Reiatsu that could be detected by either fighter, he was nonetheless garbed in a fashion that should have made him obvious to anyone, spirit or no. A cloak of white marred into a brown tinge by dirt and sandy grains, though one could still tell that beneath the layer of grime the cloak once shone with a gaudy pearlescence as that was the only thing that could come to mind when one noticed the faded Wandenreich insignia that adorned the cloak's body. Poking out below were the trappings of similarly designed trousers and black uniform boots that only helped cement the image. In modern society, something so outlandish would have only fit in an Apple product commercial, so to have remained unnoticed here was perhaps a feat worth praise. The figure, at last, leaped into action as the fight drew into its fateful stalemate. The motion jostled his hood from over his head, revealing a fluttering mop of messy golden locks, atop a hazel-kissed tone of flesh. He hit the ground with all the force of someone taking a step, unfathomably light for the speed he had been travelling under. His cloak billowed fiercely as the momentum was spent up, and now there had been a third instrument added to the deadlock. A bow forged of an uncanny steel, an arrow already notched in its glowing string. The limbs creaked as they were bent back in an instant, and like that, the bow looked like it was about to fire, with no regard for Dresden's impending ability to strike Eleonore. "Well 'ello there, 'andsome", spoke Roshan Bamshad with a casual flair. Dresden glanced between the woman before him and the strange newcomer, his eyes flickering warily. “I assume this is a comrade of yours,” he said He gathered that the man was also a member of the Stunde, but nearly started when he saw the symbol of the Wandenreich on the man’s cloak. Unease settled across his shoulders: thick and unwelcome. The man’s Reiatsu was palpable, even if he was suppressing it, as sheer power carried a certain presence that the atmosphere itself could not deny. Dresden felt his fingers tremble, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the Quincy’s power, and he knew he was standing face to face with someone far more ancient than himself. There was an instinctual acknowledgement of the other being’s inherent superiority. Slowly, Dresden raised his hands and opened them to show that he meant to empty them. “Alright, I’ll back down,” he said, “On the condition that you agree to hear me out.” Dresden knelt as though he would place the pistol on the ground between him and the two Stunde Quincy, with the muzzle pointed towards the ground. But then, with a barely perceptible flex of his index finger, he pulled the trigger. There was an explosion of sound as the shot echoed through the empty street, but he had not fired an actual bullet. Rather, the pin had struck the primer of an altered cartridge that contained a Gintō spell. A thin film of Reishi rapidly spread across the ground, enveloping the two Quincy as walls of shimmering energy materialized, shooting up from the pool of blue energy to surround his targets. “Gritz!” he yelled as he pulled back away from them and, reaching into his pocket, drew out a steel cigarette lighter. He flipped open the top and hurled the object towards the spell, whose walls were at that point solidifying into soul-synthesized silver. With a snap of his fingers he combusted the lighter in midair, and thick, gray smoke erupted in a dense cloud that covered the entire street. Scraping around him for what little Reishi he could salvage from the atmosphere, Dresden latched on to a current running beneath his feet and, with some effort, disappeared. As the smoke cleared, gradually becoming diluted from the thin sheet of rain, the two Stunde Quincy would find that he had vanished without a trace. Tirades and Thongs Letting out a vile curse as the smoke clogged her nose and made her eyes burn, Eleonore took a few steps back while waving a hand in front of her face in a vague attempt to clear the smoke. However, as soon as visibility has been somewhat restored to both her, as well as Roshan, the Stunde Quincy let out yet another curse. Her target was gone. "This is all your fault, Bamshad!" the woman snapped as she rounded on the man, "I almost had him! He was within my grasp if I could just have gotten a few more moments with him! If you hadn't shown up when you did I would have had his ass on the ground!" Her cheeks were flushed from the angry outburst, teeth grinding against teeth and her eyes positively on fire as she glared up at the blonde Quincy. "Hah! Y'know he could'a just as easily hit y' with , right?", remarked Roshan with casual abandon. He didn't exactly stress over the complaints of his companion, instead, deciding to ruffle her hair with an ill timed pat of her head. A patronising gesture if there ever was one. "Then y'd just be a pair a' legs, an 'am sorry t' say, but yer legs are not as flatterin' as yer chest". Roshan took a deep breath, a sort of passive trigger to pull on the Reishi in the air. By and large, the only construct in the area that had any substantial worth that could be weighed in spirit particles was the walls of Gritz that had trapped the two Quincy within its cramped confines. They resisted him of course, but a Gintō spell was temporary at best, and the bonds of its particles had already begun to weaken allowing Roshan to speed up the process and consume the wall as if he was breathing in air. "'sides, he ain't usin' Hirenkyaku, if y' shake yer butt y' might just catch up to him", Roshan was never really as lascivious as he was letting himself on to be. But he was a bit of a sadist, and knowing that his light harassing jabs got under her skin gave him no small amount of amusement. With his hands in his pockets and a cheeky grin on his face, the blonde-haired Quincy began walking towards the subsiding smoke clouds, as if to subtly provoke his cohort. "Arschloch!" Eleonore roared after her departing mentor, half tempted to just take her Seele Schneider and haul it at his back. She kept glaring at the scruffy Quincy for a few more moments before shaking her head softly. She easily caught up to the man's long strides, her heated glare not leaving his face for a single moment as anger flared up once more. "This is my ''target. Don't even think about taking any of the credit!" "''Kheili khosh geli", he retorted rather casually. Roshan knew very little in the way of German, but he had gotten very, very used to being hit with its curses and slurs over the years. If they weren't coming from young Eleonore, then they had to have been from miss Eisenburg. But Roshan was unlikely to be beaten at his own game, and thus, he spoke in his native tongue, paying his companion a compliment that she would likely not understand. If it went as he hoped, she'd even take it the wrong way. He came to a halt as Ellie caught up with him, twirling on his heel with a sleek spin that elicited the lightest squeak from the leather of his heel. He withdrew a folded slip of paper from a pocket on his breast which he held out and allowed to unfurl before Ellie's eyes. Laid bare was a pre-filled report of their mission together all set and ready to be reported to their, or rather her, superiors within Stunde. Roshan had no way of knowing the outcome of their mission, that's why the language used was full of vague -isms across its length and contained a variety of empty spaces for extra information. Most importantly however was that the report had been filed under the correct name. Roshan Bamshad. "See? Yer name is right 'er- Oh, no 'at's mine", Roshan hadn't mistakenly done so, of course, he was messing with his former student. "Guess th' credit's all mine if'n y' don't get shakin'", he goaded with a grin that could outdo the Cheshire cat. "You mother''fu''—!" Eleonore was about to screech when a loud buzzing filled the silent atmosphere with the catchy tune of Friday Her anger fizzling out almost immediately, only to be exchanged with cheeks flushed a bright red from embarrassment as she desperately struggled to get her phone out of her outfit before Roshan got any more ideas. Mom, the screen read when she finally got the damnable piece of tech out and pressed the 'accept call' button as she shot Roshan one last seething glare before taking a few steps away from him. "Sweetie, how is Amsterdam? Did you settle in, alright?" "This is a really bad time to call, mom!" Eleonore groaned as she rubbed her temples, "Is there any reason why yoou're calling?" "You mean that Mr. Bamshad hasn't told you that he would be joining you for the mission? Why, he was such a gentleman when he called me a few days ago and told me all about it." "Is that so?" Eleonore growled as she turned to look at Roshan with a scrutinizing glare, "Funny, he didn't mention anything about that until just a few moments ago." "Now that can't be right, dear. You need to listen to your superiors more closely when you're getting briefed." "I do, mom!" "Obviously not if you didn't notice that you would have your former teacher with you in Amsterdam. Now, be nice to Mr. Bamshad and listen to what he says. Bye, sweetie!" With those words her mom hung up, leaving Eleonore staring at the phone in her hand before she fastened her gaze at Roshan and a furious scowl spread across her face. "You motherfucker!" "Now, now, d'y'really wanna follow 'at train 'a thought?", asked Roshan, immediately turning the insult and its implication back upon his prized pupil. He had heard the voice on the other line, a spiritually advanced being like himself had no trouble picking up that kind of thing, he didn't even have to try to get closer. A simple feat achieved by using the Reishi congealed in his blood to enhance his sense of hearing. How he came upon the number of Ellie's mother, on the other hand, was a story for another time. But to call it a stroke of luck was something far too simple to convey the truth. "Unless y'want m' to be step-papa Roshan?", that ever widening grin on his face wasn't going away anytime soon. He hadn't intended to send Eleonore off the rails, but he could hardly be faulted for taking advantage of such a mistimed provocation. He wasn't worried about the time they were wasting either, sure of the fact that their errant target was limited in his capacity to escape in a manner befitting a Quincy. If he couldn't use Hirenkyaku there was no way he could outrun either of them for very long. Then again, he could be wrong, it really was just an excuse to allow him to continue teasing the woman he ostensibly treated as a friend. Suppressing the involuntary gag that threatened to make itself audible at Roshan's words, Eleonore instead opted to clench and relax her hands in a desperate attempt to try and calm down. She couldn't hit him, at least not without getting told off for who knows how long by the higher up's in Stunde or, Heaven forbid it, her mother. It didn't really make it less interesting to try, though. "Don't even joke about that, old man, that's my mother you're talking about," she growled before snatching the report of the mission out of Roshan's hands, "We need to get going anyway if we want to catch the target anytime soon and if I have to use the duct-tape I brought then so be it." "Oh-hoh~", he was quick to reveal that his pocket held a second copy of the mission report to prevent her from getting any particularly tricky ideas. The advent of copying machines truly were the bane of spies everywhere he mused to himself, before slipping the piece of paper back into his pocket. That said, he had been impressed with how quick his former pupil had gotten since he'd last seen her. It was a cheap slight of hand, sure, but a gesture that Roshan should have nonetheless been able to react to, but he hadn't. Ellie was always good when it came to moving swiftly, he couldn't fault that. In fact, it was making him rather eager to test it out. There was a slight draft, a flush of Reiatsu filling the air that created an uplifting feeling in anyone able to perceive it. It was faint, and brief, but undeniably pleasant. And it served as the catalyst for Roshan's own trick. Just as he placed the paper safely within its pocket, his other hand revealed he'd claimed something most precious from Eleonore. Opening his hand, it unfurled out into the open air, kept aloft by his fingers that held tightly to the end of the string. A thong. In a rather impressive shade of turquoise at that. How he managed to steal them from Eleonore was a baffling mystery, given the fact she was clad in a skintight suit of all things, but the Persian was unlikely to give up the secret of his methodology even in thought. "Let's make it interestin' 'en, eh?", he suggested, a murderously devious look on his face. "Y' get t' our little friend first, 'an y' get these back", he wiggled his hand in the air for a moment, causing the stolen panties to sway from side-to-side making it clear what he was referring to. "But if 'a get 'im, then 'a get to air some dirty laundry", his phrasing turned metaphorical, and in a bet like this, that was never a good sign. Of course, his wording implied there was a choice in the matter, but that wasn't Roshan's style at all. Made ever clear by the sudden burst of Hirenkyaku he used to create distance between himself and his supposed ally. "Ready, set, go~", he spoke in a chipper tune, allowing Hirenkyaku to overcome him again, carrying him away into the wind. Hands reaching down to grab at her behind and eyes widening in shock when she felt nothing but her suit covering her skin, Eleonore stared at her teacher in shock as he darted away, her mouth agape and strangled sounds coming from her throat. "I am going to murder you, you perverted fucker!" she then screeched before darting off in her own burst of Hirenkyaku, turquoise particles of reishi slowly dissipating in the air as she disappeared. A Subtle Art A few minutes later, Dresden skid to a stop beneath a bridge that ran across one of the canals leading towards the Amstel. He was breathing heavily, as even such a short use of Hirenkyaku had demanded he draw upon his limited reserves of Reiatsu. He leaned against the brick wall behind him as he steadied his breath, and glanced about him. While he had managed to temporarily evade his pursuers, he knew it was impossible to escape them for long, and thus he decided to best prepare himself for another confrontation. His arsenal was limited as he had not been expecting to run into a conflict that night. Along with his Mauser and expended cigarette lighter, he had a Seele Schneider concealed in one end of a pocket flashlight, his gloves— which were still recharging after having fired both of them—a wristwatch that doubled as a reel for a line of Silber Draht, and a box of Tic Tacs. While mulling over his options, Dresden spotted an empty glass bottle gleaming from a nearby trashcan, and he nodded to himself before he pulled it out. At least it was something. He bit down carefully on one of the Tic Tacs, which emitted a flash of blue light before he dropped the tiny, activated Reishi capsule into the bottle and sealed it shut with a wad of cloth torn from the towel he had found in one of his apron pockets. Then, he stashed the spiritual Molotov cocktail away beneath the flap of his jacket and waited. They’ll be here any second now, he thought before he swore under his breath. He could find no way in which to convince the Stunde Quincy of his innocence. That was the main issue at hand. If he could prove that, at least he would be back in neutral standing, he assumed. The other issue—why the Stunde had sent its members after him to begin with—was a bit more troublesome. He had not lied to the female Quincy earlier. He knew why they were there. Although why they wanted to secure his allegiance was beyond him. He was relatively powerless and of no use to an organization that, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be striving to replace the Wandenreich. Dresden thought of the man’s pinwheel-star pendant and shuddered. History always had a way of repeating itself. His thoughts were interrupted by a muted, shuffling sound, and he froze. It seemed he was not alone. Dresden peered more closely into the thick shadow cast by the bridge. There was a shallow alcove cut into the wall, and he thought he could see the small figure of a person huddled against it. “Hello?” he asked as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his flashlight. Switching it on, the light danced across the surface of the glass-smooth, black water of the canal before he swung it around and it carved out the darkness before him. He saw her short-cropped hair and thin, pale limbs curled around her knees, and when the woman lifted her head just enough to glance at him, her eyes were wide with terror. She was trembling. Dresden’s first thought was that it was a drug addict who had taken a bad trip. But then he saw the blood. It coated her forearms and chest, and through her attempts to calm herself she had apparently smeared it across her face as well. “Are you alright?” he asked, instantly alarmed. The woman shook her head and moaned to herself before looking away. “Tell me what happened,” Dresden said as he knelt by her side, “Are you hurt?” he placed his hand on her shoulder. In the next instant he gasped as she drove a metal stake between his ribs. His eyes widened in shock, and the flashlight skittered across the pavement. “You really should be more careful when you talk to strangers,” she whispered as a euphoric grin spread across her face. He looked down and realized that the object she had stabbed him with was a silver cross, sharpened into a weapon on one side. He instantly recognized it. “You’re... the one who killed him,” Dresden accused even though he was struggling for breath. She had pierced his lung. “You catch on quick,” she said as she twisted the cross deeper into his side and pushed him back against the wall before forcing him to stand by pulling up on it. He coughed, and specks of blood flew onto her face. She ignored it. “But I think you should be more concerned about yourself, Quincy.” she spat the word with particular malice. Dresden grabbed the cross to prevent her from causing him further pain, and felt the warmth of his own blood seep between his fingers. “What do you want?” he managed to ask, trying to distract her in order to buy time. The shadows cast by the flashlight on the ground danced around them gleefully, flickering across the wall of the alcove and casting a strange light in her eyes. “You all ask the same damn questions,” she said as she pressed in closer. Her breath was sour, and Dresden knew she was in poor health. Yet she was inexplicably strong, and he could not push her away. “I want you dead. I want you all fucking dead already.” she hissed. “Every last Quincy.” Something did not add up, something he had sensed from her own Reiatsu, and he quickly focused on it. “But you are a Quincy,” he pointed out. Her grin contorted as anger flashed across her face. “You’re wrong. I was given this power. I’m not like you.” she said, “I’m nothing like you!” Dresden met her gaze evenly, but he did not respond. “You think I’m a Quincy? You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” she continued, quickly becoming agitated. “Who are you to tell me what I am? You piece of shit. I’m killing you and you don’t even have enough power to stop me. You’re weak, and you’ll always be weak...” “I know,” Dresden stated as he pressed his pistol against her forehead, having drawn it without her notice. Time came to a standstill. “You won’t shoot me,” she said after a long moment of silence had passed. “You can’t shoot me,” she whispered seductively as she slid her hand into his jacket and stepped even closer, until their faces were centimeters apart. “Don’t you know what my ability is? Even now I’m sure you can sense it. You don’t even have the fucking strength to pull the trigger,” she smiled unpleasantly, “But go ahead if you think you can. I dare you.” “Gritz,” Dresden muttered in response. Her expression changed to one of horror, and he heard her gasp as he fired the gun. There was a roar and a flash of light, and he blinked reflexively. When he opened his eyes, however, she was gone. The Gintō, after having failing to contact its target, dissipated into the air, leaving him in silence. Dresden sank to the ground in relief. For some reason, her words were still swirling around his head, and even as he tried to knit his torn flesh back together using Ransōtengai, he found that he was unable to draw in Reishi at all. There was a heaviness sitting on the center of his chest, and he leaned his head against the wall behind him, closing his eyes in despair. The Stunde Quincy were nearly upon him now: of that he was certain. But at the moment he could barely even force air into his lungs, and had no idea when his other enemy would return. Soon, very soon... With some difficulty Dresden managed to remove the cross and pressed his hand against the wound to stop the blood. He had enough presence of mind to retrieve his flashlight and turn it off before struggling to his feet. He stumbled a few steps to the edge of the canal, and considered leaping into it in order to escape. But by then it was too late. Someone had found him. Second Confrontation Eleonore ran down the street, figure nothing but a faint blur to anyone who might look out through their windows, with a scowl still plastered on her face. Of course nothing could be simple anymore in this fucked up world they all lived in, asking for something as simple as that was obviously too much. Still, for her teacher to steal her underwear ''had to a new one. "That sick, perverted assho—!" Eleonore growled only to stop up suddenly when a flare of ''reishi registered not far from where she currently stood, "What the Hell?" She had enough knowledge of Amsterdam's layout to know that it was coming from the canal—an area filled to the brim with bridges, and beneath those lots and lots of shadows to hide in. The perfect spot for her wayward target to hide! She immediately set off towards the canal and its many bridges, her senses completely tuned into the feeling of the burst she had felt earlier and not long after one such bridge came into view, revealing a huge plume of smoke and residual reishi in the air as well as what appeared to be two shapes, though who exactly could be identified as her target was still impossible. The smallest of the two shapes then disappeared without nary a sound, leaving behind the sound of labored, male, breathing. Eleonore drew closer to the viaduct, turquoise eyes narrowing as she made out the largest of the two shapes drag itself towards the water and hover dangerously close to the edge of the canal. It was her target, no doubt about it in Eleonore's mind as she slipped in beneath the bridge and made sure that her target's back was to her front at all times. No doubt that he knew she had found him, as she hadn't really done anything to mask her power as she drew closer to Dresden, but that would not stop her. Once more she watched as Dresden's body swayed close to the edge of the water and determination filled her eyes. "Oh no you don't," Eleonore growled and dashed forward, intent on getting that damnable Ravenskraft in a choke hold and at least subdue him until Roshan appeared. In truth, however, he already had. At least in some sense of the term. He had been quick to follow the signal permeated by the Gintō, just as his companion had, and given his headstart, allowed himself to be propelled into an early lead. He sat atop a nearby rooftop that gave an incredible view of the canal. It sat opposite the moon's place in the sky, which conveyed an impressive amount of light on the river and the surrounding streets. An almost picturesque vista that was almost certainly marred by the scrungy blonde-haired man sitting within its purview, absentmindedly twirling those stolen garments in the breeze. In the meantime, Dresden dodged to the side as Eleonore lunged towards him. Thinking quickly, he decided to use the weapon most readily available to him: the flashlight in his hand. Still holding his injured side with one hand, he turned the device upside down with the other and, with a snap of humming energy, a blade of blue light materialized to form a Seele Schneider. He countered instinctively, executing a quick slash towards the other Quincy's left knee in order to cut and unbalance her. However, he became aware of himself at the last second, as he realized that his innocence would not be easily proven by injuring her. Dresden drew back sharply, and hoped he had stalled his attack in time so that it would not reach her. Eleonore rolled sharply to the side even as Dresden had drawn back, shaking her head to remove any dirt that might have stuck to her face. "Just what the Hell is your endgame?" she demanded as she slowly rose from her crouch, "You weren't afraid of hitting back before, so what happened? Don't tell me that you're afraid of hitting a girl." As Eleonore hovered cautiously in front of Dresden her eyes darted from one spot on his body to the next, ransacking her mind for any and all signs of weakness that she knew of. His breathing was... strange, almost wheezy as if he had injured his abdomen, and he was clutching one side tightly, as if to stem something from leaking out. "You're hurt..." she murmured, brows meeting in a frown above the bridge of her nose as she sniffed quietly, her nostrils catching the rusty scent of blood in the air, "But how... the only ones who were after you were me and Ro... THAT BASTARD!" she exploded all of a sudden, her hands clenching into small fists as her shoulders shook with anger. "Did he do this?! Did that bastard do this just because he didn't think that I was quick enough, huh?! Is this all just a game so he can keep that damn thong?!" she hissed furiously at Dresden, her eyes narrowing into slits as the anger only continued to build, "I don't care what the Hell my superiors will say, Roshan's ass is toast when I get to him!" A confused expression crossed Dresden’s face, before he realized who she must have been referring to. “Your partner?” he hazarded as he lowered his weapon— flashlight— it was a flashlight, he told himself. “No, this isn’t his doing,” Dresden continued, but he paled when he saw the fury smoldering in her eyes and knew the situation had become delicate. Some would have called his old-fashioned principles chauvinistic: but he was firmly of the impression that a woman’s wrath knew no bounds. Still, four-hundred years of existence had yet to prove him wrong. “And I know absolutely nothing about your thong, ah, about thongs, fräulein.” His old awkwardness that plagued him whenever he interacted with the fairer sex began to creep back into his voice, unwelcome. At least it distracted him from the pain in his side. However, their chit-chat would be interrupted by a lethal, buzzing sound that hummed through the air towards them. Dresden saw light flicker off the steel edges of two flying projectiles as they emerged from an unknown direction in the darkness. “Duck!” he shouted as he threw himself towards the other Quincy. Something brushed over his shoulder, entirely too close to his head, before they both toppled to the ground. Dresden twisted to avoid landing on the bottle still stowed in his jacket, and the air whooshed from his lungs as he landed, heavily, on his side. He groaned as he rolled over onto his knees. “She’s back,” he muttered darkly as he staggered to his feet. From where the attack had emerged, the darkness seemed to swell as the Reiatsu of their unseen enemy turned venomous. Distorted and intoxicating, it reached out towards their senses and began to whisper. In German, French, ancient slips of Hebrew, Japanese... All tongues on earth and then some melded together, seething within consciousness itself. The air in front of them wavered, as though it had become unstable. And, subtly, too subtle to be noted at once, doubt began to seep into their minds. Dresden held the Seele Schneider in front of him and reached into his jacket, his fingers latching on to the bottle. But then, without warning, the Schneider’s blue light flickered out suddenly, leaving the two Quincy in darkness. “Maybe we should search for higher ground,” he suggested. There was a clatter as another volley of cross-shaped metal stakes were sent their way, only this time they were impossible to see in the dark. Grunting in surprise when Dresden’s body collided with hers, Eleonore’s eyes snapped from one spot in their dark environment to the next, cautiously listening to the strange words whispered in the air around the two of them. When Dresden voiced his opinion about seeking higher ground, she only directed a raised eyebrow in his direction. “No, really? And here I was just enjoying being attacked from all sides by some moronic idiot with a fetish for the dark,” she hissed at him before reaching down to grasp one of her own, smaller, Seele Schneider. However, nothing but empty air met her searching hands as Eleonore kept searching for where her missing weapons were supposed to be located, causing the young woman to let out a foul curse. “Right, because nothing ever goes my way, now does it; I just had to forget bringing extras,” Eleonore snapped at herself while reaching into a pocket to reveal three small tubes. The three objects practically hummed with barely restrained reishi, and Eleonore gave Dresden a scrutinizing glare before turning to face forward. “Find some way up to the roofs, I do believe that I have to teach someone here a lesson on stealing other people’s targets,” she drawled before letting her Quincy Cross dangle from her wrist, silently gathering the reishi in the air and quickly molding it into the familiar shape of her bow. Eleonore knew that her options were limited. She preferred ranged attacks over the up-and-close fist fighting that seemed to be what their opponent was trying to bait them into. Like Hell she was going down because some idiotic washout Quincy was stupid enough to get his ass beaten; and besides, she had a certain piece of underwear to win back from that perverted bastard of a mentor. She ignored Dresden’s presence momentarily as her hand curled around the three silver tubes before finally throwing them down to collide with the ground, causing an immense cloud of thick, dark gray smoke to explode around the two Quincy. “Get going and do something useful!” she snapped at Dresden before jumping up as far as she could, helped briefly by a short burst of Hirenkyaku, and quickly gathering as much reishi as she could in a shimmering blue arrow. “''Licht Regen''!” The area was immediately illuminated as several hundred arrows burst out when Eleonore released the pent-up energy, disappearing into the mixture of gray smoke and thick darkness that covered the air around them and colliding with the debris flung towards them. Shrill bangs and shrieks of metal and brick slamming into highly condensed energy filled the night air, causing the lingering smoke around the Stunde Quincy to billow and twirl in strange forms and shapes from the resulting power outlet. Even so, not all of the makeshift projectiles could have been eliminated by her boisterous attack, and Eleonore kept close to the ground as she tried to wean her eyes from their sudden lack of light. The Storm Breaks Miraculously, the volley of cross-shaped daggers missed the two Quincy, piercing the dark around them but failing to make actual contact. Brilliant explosions of light erupted wherever one of Eleonore's Heilig Pfeil contacted a cross and destroyed the soul-synthezised silver. But as the smoke from her Gintō bombs cleared, they found that there was no sign of their attacker... It was like she had never existed to begin with. The silence that followed the chaotic attack was broken only by the sound of distant, rolling thunder. White light flickered across the sky, the clouds shining briefly with the storm's lightning before it dispersed and darkened. The rain poured harder, streaming down in dense rivulets that blurred their vision and hearing. Dresden was still panting, although the Ransōtengai had finally managed to knit the hole in his lung closed, and he scanned the canal and bridge for any sign of the crazed Quincy. Had she been a Quincy? For some reason he was beginning to doubt what he knew he had felt. Her Reiatsu had clearly been of the same nature of his own, and her attack had been distinctively Quincy, so why... He turned towards Eleonore, and frowned. "Do you have any idea why she would have attacked Jean Blanc?" Dresden began, "I assume he was your partner." But even as he spoke, something about his tone, posture or even expression, would suggest to Eleonore that he was already aware of the answer. In other words, he increasingly seemed less than innocent, and perhaps even a fellow colluder with whoever had attacked them. If there was another accomplice, that was. It was easy to see how Dresden could have set up a mechanism beforehand, and used the darkness as a cover to trigger a pre-set volley of projectiles. As for his injury, perhaps it had been intentional self-harm in order to mislead Eleonore. For his part, Dresden began to wonder why the Stunde Quincy been so intent on pinning the blame on him to begin with. It was almost as if she wanted him to be convicted, as though there were some ulterior motive driving her actions. Was she, in fact, the murderer herself? Narrowing his eyes, Dresden reached beneath his jacket to feel for the lip of the bottle that held the liquid bomb. These thoughts were subtle, but they crept insidiously upon the two Quincy. Mistrust began to wedge between their minds like a dagger, and harboring doubt cast each in the light of suspicion. The seed had been planted. "Who are you really?" Dresden asked, his voice a tense threat. Still high from the adrenaline rush her attack had begun, Eleonore’s breathing was slightly ragged as she slowly came down from the natural high while searching for any signs of life nearby besides that idiot Ravenskraft and herself. Nothing. “Drop the innocent act, Ravenskraft,” Eleonore spat at Dresden as she shifted to a more defensive position with her body, “It’s not doing you any good.” That bastard had killed Jean Blanc, the evidence against him was simply stacked too high! And then he had the gall to try and manipulate her! The appearance of that damn brat from earlier was too convenient to be a mere coincidence and as a former member of the elite Quincy there was no way that Ravenskraft could have been injured so easily. The only logical thing Eleonore could think was that the two of them had been working together. It all made sense with one of them murdering the Stunde Quincy while the other distracted any agent who would arrive to investigate the scene of the crime! He’s dead meat! Eleonore thought furiously as she once more drew out the fleur-de-lis ''that served as her Quincy Cross. “As to who ''I am it’s none of your damn business,” Eleonore spat at Dresden, subtly moving her body into a defensive position as she clutched at her Quincy Cross, “It’s the organization I belong to you should worry about. We’ve been watching you, Ravenskraft. We’ve been watching and we’re damn tired of being fooled. It was only a matter of time before you slipped up; the only way for Quincy to live is under the Stunde!” Eleonore’s bow materialized in less than a heartbeat and she pulled the string back, turquoise eyes narrowed before she released her bowstring to release a volley of spirit arrows once more. “End of the line, murderer!” It was not often that Dresden had ever found himself on the receiving end of a volley of Heilig Pfeil, and for a moment he seemed to hesitate. The bolts of blue light flashed in the darkness like fireworks. Beautiful... and deadly. Dresden could not afford a direct hit. But as soon as Eleonore released the spectral arrows, he had already made his move. Pulling the Gintō-filled bottle from his jacket, he hurled it at the ground between the two Quincy. The glass shattered, and with a flash of light and a roar blue flames burst into existence. The energy within the bottle had been highly reactive, and now it erupted violently with a wall of pressure and heat that hit Dresden squarely in the center of his chest. He used the force of the explosion as a means to throw himself back and away from the volley of Heilig Pfeil, which were caught in the sustained conflagration and dissipated. The localized combustion continued to feed on its own energy until the flames flickered and died down, smothered by the smoke and rain. Using the explosion as a form of cover, Dresden finally materialized a basic . Before forming an arrow, however, he drew out his pocket watch, threw it into the air, and fired straight into it. The Heilig Pfeil carried the object past Eleanore, and Dresden followed with two more shots on either side to distract her from his intentions. While the Silber Draht contained within the pocket watch was practically invisible in the darkness, there was a high-pitched whine as it left the reel, and the wire itself vibrated with a tension akin to the cutting Reishi edge of Seele Schnieder. As soon as the arrow buried the weighted end of the Draht into the wall lining the canal behind the Stunde Quincy, Dresden dived towards the water. The entire maneuver crossed Eleanore’s position diagonally, and he used his own weight to pull the wire taut. It had all happened in an instant. Once the explosion cleared, the only thing Eleanore would have seen was Dresden leaping towards the canal with his Spirit Weapon drawn and pointed towards her. But the real attack was coming from behind her shoulder: A ghostly line of razor wire that threatened to bifurcate her from neck to hip.